


To Take Arms

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [8]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Napoleonic Wars, References to Shakespeare, Regency, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie's interview with his father the Earl of Rotherham</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Take Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of promised the interview, having given the conversation with Viola about Robbie's joining the Army. So, here it is - and please comment, if you like; I adore feedback!

**Summer 1799; Rotherham Park, Yorkshire.**

  
Robbie was feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he waited outside Lord Rotherham's library for a formal interview about his future career. It was not as though he were in awe of his father, precisely; although the Earl had been more concerned with Richard's schooling (and he needn't have been, really, Richard was naturally bookish and serious) he had tried not to make his preference for his elder son obvious to his younger son. Robbie wasn't sure whether it was that he himself was too similar to his father, or not similar enough, that had made Richard the favourite – or simply whether it was his and Richard's relative positions as the Heir and the Spare.

He found himself drumming his fingers against his thigh, and stilled them with a conscious effort, choosing instead to run through Hamlet's famous 'To Be or Not To Be' soliloquy. He had just reached 'for who would bear the whips and scorns of time' when the estate steward came out from his usual morning meeting with His Lordship. Robbie wiped suddenly-damp hands surreptitiously on his thighs as the man paused to send him in.

He checked again that he had his meticulously-written paper with him and went in to stand before the Earl's desk, feeling a little as though he were facing the gallows or the Headmaster's birch.

 _The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,_ he thought to himself, trying to bring his unaccustomed nerves back under control. If Viola were to see him in this state...!

"Well, Robbie," the Earl said, leaning back in his chair.

Both the informality of his father's pose and the use of the familiar name, rather than the formal ' _Robert_ ', reassured him, a little, that he was not about to be dragged over the coals – he had been in this precise position more often than he cared to recall, for a dressing-down. "Which speech was it this time?"

Robbie dared pull his gaze down from the portrait of his long-dead great grandfather and namesake to meet his father's eyes, and found that the Earl was smiling.

He swallowed. "To Be or Not To Be, sir," he managed, the response coming from a slightly-dry mouth. He'd had no idea he was as nervous as all that!

"Ah." The exclamation and lifted eyebrow made Robbie suddenly conscious of the implication: Was his desire to be granted, or not? The unexpected awareness made him blink and return his gaze to the portrait hanging on the chimney-breast behind his father's seat.

The Earl paused for a moment, gazing somewhere into the middle distance, before quoting, " _Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought._ True words, indeed, by the look of you. I suppose it was the interview rather than the decision that's made you so unnaturally quiet, hey?"

"Yes," Robbie said, feeling slightly relieved.

"Well, you got my letter, then. Have you come to a decision yet?"

"Yes, sir," Robbie replied, trying to marshal his scattered thoughts into some coherent semblance of order. "I... I would like to buy my Colours, sir."

"The Army? Horse, or Foot?" The Earl was leaning forward now, hands clasped on the leather writing surface of his desk.

"Horse, if you please, Father." He pulled his prepared sheet of paper out, unfolded it and passed it over before stepping back. He had done his best to look at his skills and temperament objectively, to determine where best might suit. "I am not Richard, to enjoy studying, so neither the Church nor the Law hold any appeal."

The Earl looked at him shrewdly. "You have a brain, Robbie. It is a shame you did not apply yourself to your studies better, but no matter. And Charlie Devenish may be glad of the living if you are not to take it up."

Robbie nodded mutely, counting his points off mentally. "I am too old to make a proper fist of the Navy – and my arithmetic isn't up to scratch, either, according to Venables."

"Admiral Venables' grandson? Yes, he would know, all right. So it's to be the cavalry rather than the infantry. I hope it isn't because of the uniform?"

There was a piercing quality to the look that speared Robbie which made him squirm a little, although he could answer in all honesty, "No, sir. I ride already, and fence – and my height is better for being a cavalryman. And the Light cavalry do much more of the scouting than the Heavies do."

"And a commission in the cavalry costs more than the infantry, of course."

It was not as though the Earl couldn't afford the purchase price – even into the Life Guards or one of the Foot Guards regiments, if Robbie so desired – but that he was, as ever, prudent in where his money went. Hence, this interview, of course.

"So does the uniform – and officers must provide their own tack, to the approved regimental pattern," Robbie said, feeling on slightly safer ground here. He had looked into this as soon as he had determined on this as his career – if he was going to do something, he was going to do something he'd be good at and would enjoy. A further two or three years of study at Oxford and a life spent indoors with no company other than books could not be borne, and even in looking at the details for a commission in a regiment of Light Dragoons had felt less like work than writing a composition for his English master.

The Earl sat back, responding to his sudden enthusiasm with a piercing look that made Robbie's mouth grow dry again. He straightened before he realised that he'd done so, and swallowed.

"Your own horse, too, naturally. I hope you realise that it isn't all gadding about, riding to hounds and escorting young ladies to the hunt ball," the Earl said, which made Robbie's brow crease. That had never even crossed his mind; he had been far too caught up in discovering what he didn't know, and would need to, in order to fulfil whatever duties Light Dragoon officers had.

"Never even occurred to you, did it?"

Robbie shook his head and hoped that the interview was nearing its end.

"Well, which regiment had you in mind – you've looked into everything else, I suppose you must have an opinion on where you'd like to be."

"The Fourteenth Light Dragoons, sir." He fished another paper from his pocket and laid it on the desk. "The Duchess of York's – the agent is Mr Collyer, Leicester Square."

"I see," his father said, drawing the second piece of paper towards him. "And when should you like to take up your commission, supposing they have a vacancy for you?"

Next year, he had told Viola.... but twelve months was a ridiculous length of time for him to kick his heels in the schoolroom once this decision was made and approved. "January, sir."

"For your eighteenth birthday?" The levity in his father's voice brought Robbie's gaze jumping down from the sixth Earl's portrait again, and he was surprised to note the raised eyebrow.

"It's not too soon to be able to get the uniform and other things, and I'd have a chance to say goodbye to the chaps at school," Robbie confessed.

"And one final Christmas in the bosom of your family. Well, I shall see what can be done – and I think you'll make a perfectly good fist of it. You're better suited for that sort of life than you ever would be for the Church, and Devenish will be passing glad to have the living."

Rotherham stood to offer his hand. Robbie returned the handshake as firmly as he could, in somewhat of a daze. "Go and break the news to your mother and sisters, then," the Earl said, resuming his seat and taking up his quill. "I have a commission to purchase, it seems."


End file.
